Boy

You've got to stop measuring everybody up to perfect. You've got to stop expecting anybody to perfect. And when you find their flaw, dismiss them as yet another failure in a pursuit of perfection. How can I make you understand, you are far from perfect.

It's cruel. It's harsh. But only half as cruel as your yardstick of perfection (oh, i'd pick another word but there's no other) - your measure of doom.

Don't need you. Don't know why you think you need anybody. You said you don't, but oh don't fool me. Your honesty is appreciated. Thank you very much. Please come again.

Boy. Companionship appreciated. Defeatist attitude defines your wisdom. Years are only secondary to your age. That's why you remain a boy.

Your confidence is hollow. Shiny and new. Plastic. Sold in all major store outlets, confidence sold separately.

Don't expect too much of the world. And please, don't expect too much of me.

(and that truly, is the reason why you piss me off so much.)

Darwinism

And so he feels outmoded. If life has taught him any life lessons, it was grow up, don't grow old. He feels old. He's only thirteen. Perhaps he's an old fogey supernaturally trapped in a under-puberscent body. Now he's thinking thirteen. Rats. The idea of being some geriatric (just like his grandpa, just like his dad) stirs a sick cardioreaction in him. He feels sick. He's emo? No. He's optimistic. He believes that when this world is gone, the next world could not possibly be worse. But why should he care about something so distant to, so not, him? He doesn't care for the future, and in that case, the past.

Although he would. Because the past is all he ever has right now. And he chooses to live in it. Bask in his former glories. Before time took its toll on anything human, the past slowly erased and in its place, the present. The new enveloped the old. The old: conformist, jump on the bandwagon. unoriginal, unimpressive.

The lies, the deceit. The discovery, the disappointment. The applaudable handover of trust, the stab in the back.

And he recalls all he has learnt about anything human. Human is such an ambiguous word.

If I could put a definition to the human being, would i just say body and organs with a soul? Can that sum up its intelligence, its emotional capacity, its lusts, its love? Define soul.

He recalls. He doesn't believe in the word anymore.

But I would never do anything to hurt you, she says.

Oh baby, I never trusted you.

Self-explanatory.

Unrequited Love

And so he keeps a distance. Oh not a very long one either. If she would not accept him, he'd find a way around it. You could always make someone fall in love with you.

And when she moves, his eye, for some mysterious force was abroad, would always follow her. Intentively. Inconspiciously. As he hoped. Of course, nothing is ever inconspicious. It's like trying to hide an elephant in a haystack above the pentagon on Independence Day, whilst screaming through a bullhorn "subtle hint". Oh baby, that's just cos you can't do it.

So he's left there, on top of the pentagon on Independence Day, with a frightfully inconspicious elephant wondering if his butt was worth kicking, and then he decides, this is not the way around it. Or is he left there, on top of the pentagon with an elephant, wondering, why the hell are people looking at him?

Oh yes, baby, that's more like it.

And so, he sinks into his obsolete corner of darkness. Obsolete because there's hardly light anywhere else. And darkness, just cos he feels that way. He likes to feel he's so much in love with her. He thinks he knows her, he likes to think he knows her, but hell, he is living in darkness. I wonder what the hell he sees. The glimmer of flesh? The reflection of pretty's definition encaptured in a human form? The rays of beautiful striking to the very heart of matter? Oh yes, he must be in love.

Oh baby, you scream like nobody loves you, but oh you're so blind.

And so he puts his hand around me, but his eyes upon her. He asks me not to leave, and I shirk. "Why?" He never takes the chance to answer, before she comes over, and places her friendly arm over his shoulder. Where it would hurt the most. For with such close proximity comes the ultimate price: Unrequited love.

And so he had put his hand around me, but his eyes upon her. Unrequited.

Oh God, it breaks a tear in my eye.

I dunno what's happening. And I don't want to know why. Actually, I think I do. Or I should just blame it all on age. Sweet sixteen my foot.

Irate. Agitated.

I'm getting tired of being pushed around. So much that when I'm not, I'm still on defensive mode.

"Independent means you've got to seperate emotions from your decision making. You've got to make decisions without your emotions getting into the way." he said.

He also said that scientists said the 16 year old child's emotional capacity grows and far outgrows the logical capacity. Until you learn to control yourself...

May
He told her to stop. To run home. Cry. And that was almost what she did.  Once again, he proved her right. He'd opened her eyes only to see her see him stick a knife through her. And she knew every bit of it was real. But she wasn't feeling the wound. She wasn't feeling. For that speck of a moment, she acheived what she had been trying for her lifetime. She was completely detached.

She left, no doubt. New place. New "him", who said you are not good enough, just not in those words. He said, because I'm your friend, you belong to me.

So he said, "Let's go. Let's make it a little different." But I don't like change. I don't like to be there when it changes. I don't like my carefully structured routine to break. I've a set mind on what to do. It gives me strength to do what I'm doing when I know what I'm doing. So I stuck on to what I believed in, and I refused to change. Because I knew change would mean it'll never remain the same - the way I almost wanted it to be. Of course, now that I've got accustomed to you, I think...I'd like change.

You're annoying me. By being in my head so many times. Getting less and less. Perhaps the only change I like.

On another note, the situation I think is getting bad.....I hate bai chi. I despise what he did. He meant it as a joke. And it was funny. For 10 seconds. Then it just got sad. And bad. And utterly humiliating. And HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FACE __? It's one of those things you'd feel like killing someone for. But oh wells. :) Smile. And sleep. it will all go away. itsallabaddreamisallabaddreamitsallabaddream Friggin bai chi. I'll get you another day.